I had those neighbors growing up. Loud parties until 1 am on school nights, constantly revving their motorcycle. They also parked a boom lift in their driveway and I’d routinely wake up to their teen son looking in my second floor bedroom window.
Surprise, talking with them didn’t help anything. My dad helped by getting me earplugs. My mom told me to stop bothering her by having needs.
Last time I used Nair was over a decade ago and it was impressively, dreadfully smelly. Like burning hair, but more chemically. Just be prepared.
They might not even be pervs, maybe they’re autistic and feet are their special interest.
Also autistic. Seconding that this is hilarious. I’m with the reporter, the prisoner makes prison sound like a good place to be.
I stacked paperback books as a toddler, straight in a line. My dad taught me to do them in a brick pattern for stability.
Vivaldi also has tab groups.
might one say “one for the cock, one for the lock”?
My last job had those, prepandemic. It was nice.
Current job has an accessible button to open the door that I can hit with my knee.
you have to sneak up on the box
I can’t guarantee an online researcher/visitor has anything other than a browser and I sure as heck don’t want to walk them through installing something on whatever machine they’re using. I do enough tech support as it is.
Current plan is to have the web server do it, it’s just another thing on my plate that I need to figure out how to do.
We use it at my library/archive to convert EADs (XML finding aids) into something we can present to a human.
This change breaks something that’s been working for us without issue for over a decade, and it’s personally a PITA because I’m the only dev-adjacent person in the library and fixing this takes me away from other stuff. (I’m spread thin and we’ve been in a hiring freeze for 5 years. I love my coworkers but there’s so much work stuff I have to deprioritoze in order to do the important stuff, it feels unfair when a big corporation decides to break something on me.)
I’m a big fan of textured vegetable protein (TVP). It gives a ground beef texture but is vegetarian and shelf stable. It looks expensive per pound, but it’s dehydrated so you’re not paying for water.
Original recipe has fish in it (sardines iirc), so might be ok for pescetarians.
They have a “sensitive marinara” that doesn’t trigger my partner’s IBS. The “sensitive” part is that it lacks garlic and onion. (Partner loves garlic but it doesn’t love him back.)
The only other pasta sauce we’ve found that works for him is from Fody and is more expensive. Luckily, pasta is cheap so it kind of balances out. And I can still have my garlicy oniony goodness by using my own sauce.
I often demand an olfactory component to my calming shelters. The smell of rotting bananas in particular reminds me of my first college advisor’s comfy, crowded office.
Shout out to “Saga Thing”, two English history professors reviewing all of sagas of the Icelanders.
Also “No Gods, No Mayors”, doing the same for all mayors ever (they admit it’ll take a while)
And “Pontifacts”, ditto for popes.
And “Totallus Rankium”, ditto for Roman emperors, then American presidents, then pirates…
Try “Kill James Bond”. They start with the James Bond franchise, which they hate. I highly recommend their Cars 2 episode. It’s unhinged.
Plus you get a window seat.
tbh, I don’t know who most of those people are. I’m just going by “yay, window seat”
Your comment on funerals reminds me of my mother yelling at me for crying over my grandpa’s death (the first death I experienced as an adult/college student). She told me “Why are you so upset‽ You’ve been to church more recently than I have!”
Anyways, that thought lives rent-free in my head, even though I no longer speak with my mother.
(mini rant: she gave me exactly as much space to feel my feelings when my own dad died more recently. Yes, she sucks.)
My grandma’s funeral was not a sad occasion. She’d lived a long life and died very demented, so there was a bit of sadness, but mostly those feelings had been dealt with over the years as her mind changed. The primary feeling seemed to be relief. The sermon was very “we’re not burying her, we’re planting her, rejoice for she will be reborn” and I wanted to throttle the preacher because he said nothing specific to my grandma, it was very generic. My main feeling at the funeral was stress from navigating the disfunctional relationships of family members I hardly knew.
Prepaid cards have numbers that identify them.
Which, btw, makes perfect sense. As a shop that takes credit cards, I would want to know if someone has signed up for a subscription service with a prepaid card, since the card may run out, prematurely cancelling the service.
There’s a big database at the backend of the credit card processor that keeps track of all this stuff. The shop can tell a lot about you based on your card number.
Initial read: “mind computer numeric control‽… ooooOoOo, now I get”